


a messy morning

by sapphire_eyes27



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky's 100th Birthday, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Living Together, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve can't cook for shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 08:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10612659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire_eyes27/pseuds/sapphire_eyes27
Summary: He turns to face Steve again, “You know I love you, Stevie, but I don’t trust your cooking. Never have. Now get the hell out of my kitchen.”Steve pouts, looking like a kicked puppy, and Bucky wrenches his gaze away from that heartbreaking expression. “Ourkitchen, jerk,” Steve points out sullenly but his tone is light.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've descended into stucky hell, and I love it here! Thought I'd contribute to the fandom. This is my first stucky fic ever so pls be kind!

Bucky doesn’t know what he expected when he woke up but it definitely wasn’t the smell of burning oil and the shrill sound of the fire alarm going off in his ear.

He blinks the remaining sleep from his eyes before his brain finally catches up with the fact that _there is a fire alarm going off_. He shoots out of bed, ready to get Steve and himself out of their apartment in case of a fire, but Steve isn’t dozing peacefully next to him like normal.

Bucky quickly throws on a pair of pajama pants and one of Steve’s old T-shirt that’s lying around because there’s no way he’s stepping out of the building in his boxers and with his chest covered in less than innocent marks. He’s acquired some sense of shame and modesty over the years despite Steve claiming otherwise.

He stumbles out of their bedroom, ready to yell for Steve but he ends up coughing instead, eyes watering. A haze hangs all over the apartment and Bucky waves his hands to clear the air around him. The haze gets denser as he makes his way to the kitchen until he finally spots Steve by the stove. He has a frying pan in hand with a smoking black blob on it. Well, now Bucky knows what’s blocking his airways and stinging his eyes. Steve has a hand covering his mouth and nose as he throws the pan into the sink and turns on the cold water. The pan sizzles in displeasure as the water mixes with the hot oil.

Steve coughs before turning around. He jumps, not expecting Bucky to be standing right there. His enhanced hearing abilities are no match for Bucky’s quiet footsteps. His blue eyes go wide in a classic deer-in-the-headlights look. He looks ridiculous in a small, tight apron that stops just below his boxers, displaying his gorgeous thighs—the thighs that Bucky had his face in between just last night. Sam had gotten the pink, frilly piece of cloth for Bucky as a joke, but it backfired when Bucky wore it without even batting an eyelash. He always did look good in pink. It fits him just fine, but on Steve it looked like it was about to tear into two if he so much as took a deep breath. Even after all this time, Bucky still can’t get over the fact that Steve is now slightly, _slightly_ bigger than him.

They stare at each other silently for a few more seconds before Bucky’s eyes flit to the kitchen counters. His jaw drops as he takes in the mess. There’s flour coating almost every inch of counter space. Egg shells and precious chocolate chips litter the floor. There’s an army of dirty bowls and measuring cups, and Bucky thinks, cringing, _That is not how you use a sieve, Steve!_

What he says out loud is a completely different matter. “What the fuck are you doing, Rogers?”

The fire alarm continues blaring and he goes to open all the windows and turns on the exhaust hood. He’s not angry (really he’s not) just confused because Steve _never_ cooks.

“I, uh—thought I’d make you chocolate chip pancakes since it’s your birthday today,” Steve says sheepishly.

Bucky blinks.

Today is March tenth?

Steve’s eyes glint with mischief. “And since you’re officially a hundred years old. Happy birthday, old man.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but a smile is tugging at the corner of his lips. “Look who’s talking. You’re almost there, punk.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve says flippantly. “I’m not a day over thirty-two.”

“Thirty-two my ass,” Bucky mutters just as the fire alarm finally stops ringing.

Bucky barely experiences any relief before he sees the pancake batter. His face contorts into a mask of disgust because the batter is a gloopy mess with a piece of eggshell in the center too. _It’s definitely_ not _supposed to be that color_ , he thinks.  

He turns to face Steve again, “You know I love you, Stevie, but I don’t trust your cooking. Never have. Now get the hell out of my kitchen.”

Steve pouts, looking like a kicked puppy, and Bucky wrenches his gaze away from that heartbreaking expression. “ _Our_ kitchen, jerk,” Steve points out sullenly but his tone is light.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky retorts and goes to clean up the mess before he starts making them an _edible_ breakfast. He likes having his work space neat and tidy.

“Here, let me,” Steve says, taking the cleaning rag out of Bucky’s hands before wiping up all the flour. “It’s my mess anyway.”

Bucky stares after him, eyebrows raised in amusement and disbelief. “Never thought I’d live to see the day Steven Grant Rogers cleaned up after himself.”

Steve throws him a glare over his shoulder but there’s no heat behind it. “I always clean up after myself.”

Bucky snorts, “Uh huh. Just like when you cleaned up after yourself when you were fourteen and tracked mud all over my house after that terrible rainstorm.”

“I got sick after!” Steve defends himself vehemently.

“And whose fault was that?” Bucky asks. “No one told you to go running off in that weather.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” Steve quips before his voice turns soft, eyes gazing fondly into Bucky’s, “But I missed my best friend. If I recall correctly, we got into a fight before he went off for summer vacation and that was the longest time I hadn’t talked to him. I thought I was dying.”

Bucky gives him a small smile. His flesh-and-blood hand caresses the side of Steve’s face, and he leans into the touch, lashes lowering and fanning across the tops of his cheekbones. Bucky feels the warmth from Steve’s skin seep into his own.

“Me too, pal,” he says softly. He pecks Steve chastely on the lips and pulls away.

“While you clean up, I’m going to start on a new batter, one without eggshells in it,” Bucky teases.

“Shoot! I thought I’d gotten them all,” Steve scowls.

Bucky laughs, “Even if you had, I still wouldn’t be eating _that_.” Bucky dumps the gross batter into the trash. “And I was thinking, let’s make some French toast and omelets too. Go all out.”

Steve chuckles as he starts washing the extra dishes, “Sure, Buck, if that’s what you want. Today is your day. Whatever you say goes.”

Bucky’s grin turns devious. “Whatever I say goes, huh?”

“Within reason,” Steve hastily corrects.

“Nope, too late,” Bucky argues, “You already said it.”

Steve groans and hangs his head in defeat. “I’m so going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“You give me too much credit,” Bucky smirks, slapping Steve’s ass.

Steve yelps at the sudden action and nearly drops the glass bowl he’s washing. He glares at Bucky and flicks soapy water at his face.

Bucky howls with laughter and moves away just in time. The water still soaks through to his shoulder though.

Steve tries again until they’re having a full on water fight. Steve has the upper hand that comes with being by the sink, but Bucky makes do with a full pitcher of the liquid and a round lid that he uses as a shield.

By the time they call a truce, they’re both soaked, Bucky moreso than Steve. They lie side by side on the kitchen floor with the linoleum tiles cold against their wet skin.

“Do you just wanna go to a nearby café?” Bucky suggests because he’s suddenly not in the mood to cook.

Steve gives him a toothy grin, “Whatever you say goes, pal.”

“Good,” Bucky answers with a similar grin before adding on, “You’re still cleaning up this mess though.”

“Hey!”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all liked it! Comments and kudos are very much appreciated! My [tumblr](http://www.rolling-blunder.tumblr.com)!


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